


If Sherlock's Happy, John Can Pretend to Be

by rory_the_faery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Non-Consensual, Rape, dark!Sherlock, dubcon, psychological abuse, trigger warning, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_faery/pseuds/rory_the_faery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John will do anything for Sherlock, because if Sherlock is happy, John can at least convince himself that he's happy too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Sherlock's Happy, John Can Pretend to Be

John sat alone in the booth at Angelo's for an hour and a half before he finally gave up, knowing Sherlock had stood him up again. It happened often, and John always found himself forgiving him for it because…well, he was Sherlock. And John loved him, even if he sometimes wondered Sherlock loved him back. But that was ridiculous, of course Sherlock loved him back, right? John put up with him and pretended he didn't see Sherlock constantly staring at other men (and women) whenever they went out. John did whatever Sherlock asked because it made Sherlock happy and if Sherlock was happy, John was happy, or at the very least, he convinced himself he was.

Sighing, he pulled his coat on and hailed a cab back to the flat, where Sherlock was standing by the window, tuning his violin. John decided he must've forgotten about their date plans and forgave him for that. Sherlock was bad at keeping track of time, he told himself.

John was always able to come up with an excuse for each and every time Sherlock wronged him.

Sherlock didn't even look at John as he entered.

"Did you get milk?"

"What? Oh, no, I didn't…are we out of it again?" John asked, a feeling of disappointment in himself washing over him for not getting the milk even though he hadn't been supposed to in the first place. He didn't mention their date. He didn't mention that Sherlock _promised_ he wouldn't stand him up this time.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh for God's sake John...you really are useless sometimes," he huffed.

John felt like Sherlock had just punched him in the gut. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll, um, I think Tesco's still open, I'll just go and get some," he said, pulling his coat back on.

If it were anyone else, he'd huff back at them to get the fucking milk themselves, but it was Sherlock, and something about Sherlock made John never want to disappoint him. Maybe Sherlock did it on purpose, but just thinking that made John feel as if he was somehow being disloyal to the detective.

John ran outside and got a cab to Tesco's, which of course, was not open. Just his luck. But he couldn't go home empty handed or he'd drown in his own inadequacy, so he found another shop that was still open (and had milk that cost twice as much). He wandered around looking for a cab and sighed when none of them would take him. It wasn't a far walk to the flat, but his leg was acting up again and it hurt.

John finally made it back to the flat, sighing and taking off his coat, hanging it up on the hook. He put the milk away and sat down in his armchair across from Sherlock. He still didn't mention Sherlock standing him up for the third time in two weeks. It wasn't worth upsetting Sherlock about.

Mycroft had once called John brave, but that wasn't true. John was a coward. He was afraid. Afraid that one day, Sherlock would get bored of Ordinary John and find someone more interesting. What terrified him the most was that it wasn't too far-fetched of a thing to happen either.

Sherlock didn't seem to remember that they'd had a date, and if he did, he didn't seem to care.

He plucked at the strings on his violin, ignoring John completely. John decided to go to bed and stood up, making his way to the bedroom.

He stripped off his clothes and curled up under the blanket, exhausted by having to wait for Sherlock for an hour and a half and then having to walk home from the grocery store.

Just as he felt himself beginning to fall asleep, he heard the door creak and Sherlock crawled into bed. John sighed. They never slept in the same bedroom unless they were shagging. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and pulled him closer to him, flipping him onto his stomach and crawling on top of him. John really wasn't in the mood, but Sherlock wanted to, so he didn't protest as Sherlock slid two long fingers, wet with lube into his arsehole.

John made a slight noise of discomfort, but Sherlock didn't notice or didn't care. John decided on the former, though it was probably the latter.

Sherlock sucked on John's neck, biting him a little too hard as he scissored his fingers in John's arse. Finally he withdrew his fingers and John felt the head of Sherlock's cock against his hole. Sherlock thrust into him without warning, causing John to nearly cry out in pain. Sherlock's hips settled into a rhythm, thrusting into John again and again. It was uncomfortable and John was tired and his leg cramped up, but he let Sherlock fuck him anyway because it made Sherlock happy and if Sherlock was happy, John was happy.

Sherlock came with a groan inside of John and then pulled out, planting a chaste kiss on John's lips and then ran off, leaving John alone in his room with a hard on for him to take care of himself, as he'd done before. He'd only get John off if he was in the mood and apparently tonight he wasn't. John sat up, spitting on his hand and quickly jerking himself off. He sighed, properly exhausted and flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

John couldn't bring himself to be mad at him. He just couldn't. It was what had kept him by Sherlock's side no matter how much of a dick he was. He loved Sherlock in the stupid, reckless, masochistic way that he ended up hurting himself, but he didn't care. He could not bring himself to hate Sherlock Holmes.

~oOo~

He woke up at 7:16 in the morning to the sound of Sherlock (who probably hasn't slept at all) yelling at him from the kitchen.

"John, you fucking idiot; you got _whole_ milk instead of 2%. Jesus, can't you do _anything_ right?"

John groaned tiredly and pulled on his dressing gown, making his way downstairs to the kitchen where Sherlock was having a fit. "I'm sorry…" muttered John, knowing he'd have to make another trip to the grocery store today.

"Idiot," muttered Sherlock, stomping off into the living room and grabbing his coat without bothering to tell John where he was going. John heard Sherlock going down the stairs and the front door slam. He was probably going to Bart's, in which case, he wouldn't be home until late tonight.

John made himself some coffee and then took a shower, heading back out to Tesco's to get more milk before Sherlock came home.

John was already in bed by the time Sherlock got home. He heard the detective's footsteps come up the stairs, glad when he didn't hear them come up the second flight; John wasn't in the mood for a shag tonight either.

The next morning, John woke up of his own volition at about ten, hearing Sherlock playing violin downstairs.

"Good, you're awake. I've got a case, you're coming with me."

John nodded and went back upstairs to get dressed quickly. When he got downstairs, Sherlock was already wrapping his scarf around his neck and John grabbed his coat.

~oOo~

The case involved breaking into a man's flat (or, rather, _Sherlock_ breaking into a man's flat, leaving John to stand awkwardly on the front steps, arguing with Anderson, and being chased down several poorly lit alleyways with a serial killer firing a gun at them. John trailed behind Sherlock, who was much faster than him through the dark alleys, and nearly got shot several times. Sherlock and John were cornered and the man aimed his gun at Sherlock. John shot him in the head before he could hurt the detective.

Instead of thanking him, Sherlock got angry with him.

"You could've run a bit faster, you know. We nearly got killed because of you!"

It wasn't as though Sherlock had waited for him; he'd kept on running ahead of him, practically leaving him behind, but John still felt guilty for possibly endangering his partner's life. "Sorry," he murmured, but Sherlock wasn't listening; he was texting Lestrade that they'd got him.

~oOo~

"Not now, John, I'm busy."

"We always do it when _you_ want to, regardless of whether or not I'm in the mood for it."

" **Not now** , John, I'm _busy_."

John stood in the kitchen, still dressed in what he'd worn during their case earlier. Sherlock was hunched over his microscope, where he'd been for the last two and a half hours. Sighing, John turned around and went into the bathroom. He took a quick shower and went upstairs to his bedroom.

Sherlock loved him, he was just too busy to love him right now.

~oOo~

The next morning, Sherlock wasn't home.

In fact, he didn't come home for another three days. When he finally came walking into the flat, he hung up his coat and scarf without a word and went straight back to his experiments in the kitchen.

"Were you on a case?" asked John. Sherlock ignored him. "Right," muttered John.

"Did you say something?" asked Sherlock after a moment.

"No, nothing," murmured John. He stood up, deciding to take Lestrade up on his offer to go out for drinks.

"Where are you going?" asked Sherlock.

"Pub," answered John, pulling his coat on.

"With who?"

"Lestrade."

"When will you be back?"

"I dunno," said John. "Don't wait up for me," he said, though he knew Sherlock wouldn't anyway. If Sherlock was still awake, it wouldn't be because of John. With one final glance at his partner, who was still hunched over lab equipment, John went down the stairs and out of the flat, texting Lestrade on his way.

~oOo~

"So how's things with Sherlock?" asked Greg, ordering another two beers for them.

"Um..good, good.." answered John, taking a sip of his beer. "He was...gone...for a few days, just got home about an hour ago, actually."

"Oh," said Greg. "I was wondering why he wasn't answering his phone. Case?"

"Probably," said John. "Probably Mycroft had some Top Secret government thing for him to work on...I dunno."

Lestrade nodded. "Doubt he's cheating on you, mate," he said, seeming to notice that the thought had crossed John's mind several times. "Lord knows if he was, he'd know how to hide the evidence..." said Greg, then realised that might have been a bit not good. "Not like him, though. If he wanted someone else, he'd just leave you. You know how he is."

~oOo~

John had never said no to Sherlock. The thought had never even crossed his mind. If Sherlock wanted something, John would do it. Whatever it was. Sex, shopping, making dinner, washing dishes. If Sherlock wanted to have sex, then John would agree to it, even if he didn't want to. He liked to think it was love or trust, but somewhere deep in the back of his mind, it was fear. Fear of what Sherlock might do if he said no.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. I don't want to."

John was lying in bed, in pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and Sherlock was next to him, naked. John studied his face, thinking it looked as though Sherlock had never heard that word in his life. _No._

"That's ridiculous; you _always_ want to. Take your trousers off." Sherlock snaked an arm around John's waist, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his pants. John yanked himself away.

"Sherlock, I said no. Stop it!"

Sherlock pulled him back, surprisingly strong for how thin he was. John squirmed in his arms.

"Sherlock -- stop -- I told you -- I don't want -- "

Sherlock's hand pressed firmly over John's mouth and nose, nearly suffocating him until he stopped squirming. The hand loosened slightly, but stayed where it was in case he needed to silence John again. John felt two fingers slide into his arse and made a noise of discomfort. Too much and too dry. In and out. In and out.

John decided he was dreaming. It wasn't real. Sherlock would _never_ hurt him like this.

He closed his eyes and pretended none of it was happening. Pretended he didn't feel Sherlock's wet prick thrusting in and out of him. Pretended Sherlock's hand wasn't jerking him off. Pretended he didn't come. Pretended Sherlock had never come in his room in the first place. He'd fallen asleep alone. No sex tonight. He'd said no to Sherlock and that was the end of it.

But when he woke up the next morning, he knew it wasn't a dream. He could feel his arse throbbing. See the bite marks on his neck. Still feel Sherlock's hot breath in his ear. But that didn't stop him from pretending it didn't happen, because when he went downstairs and saw Sherlock in the kitchen, making breakfast, Sherlock looked happy as ever, and if Sherlock was happy then John could pretend to be.


End file.
